A Really Dark Place

I am frustrated, depressed, scared, and completely pissed off.

Once again, I am having neuro problems. My primary doc has been convinced for 4 years that I have MS, but so far the MRIs of my brain have come up clear. The neurologists I've seen have basically told me that I'm crazy because my scans come up clean. Bullfuckingshit.

So here I am, after catching a goddamn cold, with weak legs, pins and needles, brain fog, the whole nine yards again. I'm walking with a fucking cane because my balance is gone. My doc was alarmed enough to send me to the ER to get admitted to test me for MS. Did they admit me? Hell no. They put me on massive doses of steroids and sent me the hell home. Massive doses of steroids? To treat WHAT??? You don't just prescribe horse doses of that shit without a diagnosis. To top it off, the neuro I saw in the ER told me to make an appointment w/ his clinic the next day to get an MRI. When I called yesterday, they told me they don't see patients on an emergency basis. The best they could do was the end of fucking December. I called my clinic, and they couldn't do any better for me.

This is just like 4 years ago. I absolutely am losing faith in neurology as a specialty. Fuck them all.

So here I am, people staring at me in public, friends and family not knowing what to say to me or how to treat me, my weaknesses on display for everyone to see, and there's not a motherfucking thing I can do about it.

I am pissed as hell.

On top of it, I am UGLY. I can't stand up straight, I can't walk straight, I am weak, and I am miserable. The Love Of My Life is clearly uncomfortable with my infirmity. The one person I really need to treat me like there's nothing wrong... CAN'T. I am not attractive, I am not sexy, I am not myself... I'm just... SICK.

I hate this so much.

I don't want to go anywhere, I don't want to do anything, I don't want to see anyone, and I sure as hell don't want anyone to see me. I don't want to talk about it, I don't want advice, I don't even think I want sympathy at this point.

I think I just want to be angry. I want to fight this thing on my own terms. I want to hate it, I want to hate what it is doing to me, I want to hate what it is doing to my life. I want to wallow here and be left alone.

I think that maybe my anger is the only thing that can save me at this point. I think that maybe my anger is the only thing about me that I recognize as ME at this point. Everything else is Disease, and is out of my control.

I hate not having control. I need to be in control of my life.

Right now, the only thing that gives me a feeling of having any control at all is being Pissed As Hell.

Fuck this shit. Fuck MS. Fuck the doctors and the hospitals. Fuck pity. Fuck it all.

Stupid Neighbors

Okay, yeah... I have no business being up at this time of night, I know.

For the second or third time this week, my stupid downstairs neighbors are having a drunken gaming party.

They have buddies over, play their music super loud, sit out on their deck smoking shwag weed, etc until the wee hours of the morning. This time, they woke me up at 3AM.

Generally, on the off weeks, I'm not here enough for it to bother me. This week, though, I have my kids. The other night the crappy neighbors woke them up too. This is never a good thing, because overly-tired kids are hell on wheels the next day.

So I called the new caretaker and totally narc'd. I mean, how totally disrespectful.

"Quiet time" in the building is supposed to be from 10PM to 8AM. We're not supposed to run our garbage disposals/dishwashers between these hours, and we're supposed to keep our conversation and TV volume low. I get this, and I always abide by it, so it really pisses me off when my neighbors think they can do whatever the hell they want.

The other night, the male half of the duo downstairs was out on the deck getting a bake on around midnight. First of all, I could tell he was smoking crapass weed because it smelled like burning roadkill. Even better was the fact that he was on the phone trying to get his buddy to drop by for some "Mad Gaming." Um... yeah. The conversation went something like this: "Dude. Dude. Seriously, dude. I'm totally on level 18, dude. Dude. I'm not even shitting you, dude. 18. If you come over, dude, I'll smoke your ass. I'll totally get to level 20, dude. I'm not even kidding you, dude. I'm totally serious. Dude. Dude. Dude. Seriously... Duuuude." And this MENSA level conversation was punctuated with him choking on his shwag weed. Priceless. I laughed my ass off. And not polite, in-my-head laughing, either. I found this so comical that I even let the Horshack donkey bray fly a couple times. I felt like hanging over the railing and going, "Duuuuuuude. You're so smart. Seriously, dude. Level 18? Those are some mad gaming skills, dude. Maybe you can find a way to turn those mad skills into some cash so you can afford some better weed. Seriously, dude."

I've been in their apartment, because once I hade to go apologize for watering my plants on my deck while he was out there smoking a ciggie, and I guess I got his chair wet. They've got all kinds of animal heads mounted on their walls (I guess he's a hunter), and they have a couple pinball machines where most people would have dining room furniture, and there were two dart boards that I could see. I should've known right then that there would be loud, drunken, stupid parties.

Now, I am by no means a prude, and I have been known to party late into the night and early into the next morning from time to time. However, the par-tay they had before this one was on a Tuesday night. TUESDAY. Who parties and plays video games all night on a TUESDAY??? Don't these dumbasses have to work???

Anyhow, the new caretaker went down there and told them to shut up a little while ago, and they finally did. I'm quite sure they know it was me who narc'd, but I don't give a rat's ass. I would expect the same if I woke my neighbors up at 3AM.

Once I was having loud sex in the middle of the night, and the upstairs neighbors stomped on the floor, and we shut the hell up. Of course, it kinda ruined the mood, so we really had no choice, but STILL. At least I TRY to be a considerate neighbor. I mean, come on.

While I'm on the subject of neighbors, what's with the 20-something Asian dude who just moved in above me??? This freak paces CONSTANTLY, all day and all night. It sucks, because the floors are totally creaky. Maybe he's a crackhead. Or maybe he has OCD and can't sit down for two seconds. But he has to stop sometime, right? I mean, he's got to sleep sometime. At the very least, he's got to sit on the toilet to take a crap for a couple minutes here and there, right? I have yet to hear him stop pacing, and it's been two or three weeks. He's at it right now.

This is the only thing I have decided I really hate about apartment living: FRICKIN' NEIGHBORS.

Why can't everyone be more like ME???

The Scab Lady

So, there's this gross old lady who lives on my floor and parks her car next to mine in the garage. I call her Scab Lady.

She earned this name because she has these nasty, weeping sores all over her lower legs all the frickin' time. They're usually bandaged, but I can tell right where they all are because you can see the pus seeping through the gauze. Ew, ew, frickity EW.

I have a feeling she might live in her car part-time. The back seat is filled with crap... boxes, bags, empty food containers, you name it. Oh, and her walker, which I have yet to see her actually use. A couple times I've gotten home or have been leaving, and she's been sitting in her car. Just SITTING there, listening to the radio or talking to her dog. And she sits there for a super long time, too. I know this because I often putz around before getting out of my truck or pulling out of my spot. I may decide to clean out the garbage the kids left in the back seat, or throw out the empty cigarette boxes in my center console, put on lipstick, organize my purse, or what have you. And when I finish whatever I'm doing, she's still sitting there in her car. One time when I left, she was sitting there. When I got back more than a half hour later, she was STILL THERE.

Here's another thing that bugs me: she's got this yappy weiner dog named Deuce, and he's never on a frickin' leash. I see them sometimes in the hall, and that stupid dog is running all over the place willy-nilly, yapping away. Once he got underfoot when I was coming back from the laundry room with a huge basket of clothes. That glorified rat almost got himself kicked. Oh, come on... I wouldn't have kicked him on purpose! Luckily I saw him and stopped walking until Scabby Mc Scabsalot could get him to go back into her apartment. One of these days something will happen to him, though, if she doesn't get him on a frickin' leash. He's gonna get stepped on, or get closed in the elevator door or something. And the way she tries to get him to come back when he takes off down the hall... she says PLEASE, and talks to him like he's a kid. I got news for ya, lady: he's NOT HUMAN. He's a frickin' DOG. One, he can't understand you. Two, saying please is not gonna change his mind about bolting down the hall to yap at neighbors trying to get out of the elevator with their groceries.

Here's another thing I've been wondering about that dog: where the hell does he crap??? I mean, she doesn't leave her apartment for days on end, I never see her outside the building, and apparently she needs a walker to get around, and the walker's in the back seat of her car all the time. So, does she let the dog crap in her apartment? Does he use a litter box? Did she train him to use the toilet like some people do with their cats? Inquiring minds wanna know!!!

Maybe this is super mean, but that lady creeps me out to no end. I actually hold my breath when I walk past her, her car, or her apartment because I don't want to breathe in whatever bacteria is infesting her nasty legs. I've never had the dilemma of having to get into the elevator with her, but I kinda think I wouldn't be able to hold my breath that long. I think I'd have to make some excuse to take the stairs or say, "Oops, I forgot something," and go back to my truck or my apartment until the coast was clear. The thought of being trapped in the elevator with her and her rat dog makes me feel like hurling a little bit.

I know what you're thinking: I'm going to hell for being so mean, intolerant and judgmental. Whatever... I am what I am. However, if hell is indeed an eternity of your worst experiences ever, my hell would be being trapped in an elevator with Scab Lady and Deuce, and I could only get off the elevator at Steve-O's on karaoke night.

Maybe I should try to be nicer.......

Nah.

Frickin' Steve-o's

So, my best friend and I went to Steve-o's last week for karaoke with some of the Big Louie's barflies. One of the barflies was totally talking it up, like it would be this great night of fun, so I talked my friend into trying it out.

What a frickin' joke.

First of all, it's a crappy dive bar with no windows. However, my friend commented that it was a lot cleaner than he expected it to be. But it still is a crappy dive, with the clientele you'd expect to see in a bar with no windows that serves 3-for-1's at 8am.

Second, worst... singing... EVER. And I mean EVER. Not a single singer I heard was anywhere near the frickin' melody. The very worst I heard was when a couple drunk chicks got up and completely butchered What's Up by 4 Non-Blondes. It was absolutely painful. And it hurt my ears even worse because it's a song I do from time to time at Big Louie's, and I do it well if I do say so myself. So to hear these dumb girls hack it apart was just sick.

The food was extra, extra greasy... close to inedible for me. We got chicken wings and potato skins, with a complimentary side of... GREASE. We couldn't finish it all, so we offered the rest to this one barfly friend who didn't get his order in before the kitchen closed. Well, you'd think he hadn't eaten all year. He tore into those wings like he'd been raised by wolves. I'm talking food flying, teeth bared, shaking the wings back and forth like they weren't quite dead yet, the works. I expected him to start snarling and then go outside to howl at the moon. I'm not sure he even took a breath between mouthfuls. I didn't know whether to look away in disgust or start laughing. I seriously wondered what would've happened if we'd decided we wanted the wings back. I have a feeling someone would've lost a few fingers or suffered a fang wound to the jugular.

The beer on "special" was a crapass beer served in a thimble. A $2.50 beer ain't a great deal when you get about a teaspoon of pisswater with an orange slice in it.

Needless to say, we didn't stay long. I apologized profusely to my friend all the way home for dragging him to that craphole . Honey, if you're reading this, once again: Sorry, Sorry, Sorry.

Well, at least now we know. I can say with complete certainty that we will never set foot in frickin' Steve-o's again in this lifetime. And I think that's about how long it will take to get Wolf Boy's wing eating display out of my nightmares.

Dig me!

Yeah, don't know why I chose that title. Just thought it was funny.

Hi. How's it going? Seems like I've been doing these once-a-month updates. I just never seem to find the time to get on here and do my usual rants.

So, a couple weeks ago the ex and I dropped our oldest daughter off at college. I thought I was fine with the whole thing, until I was over at my best friend's house one night and he asked me how I was feeling about it. It was then I realized that I was totally not okay with the whole thing. For the week leading up to her departure I bawled at the drop of a hat, thinking about her when she was a baby, toddler, little girl, etc... nostalgic melacholia. The end of an era. And, of course, I totally cried when I was saying goodbye to her in her dorm room. As excited as she was to start this new chapter of her life, and as much as I know she can handle it, I felt like some kind of traitor leaving my baby in an unfamiliar place to fend for herself.

Of course, she's doing great. She's having a blast, meeting new people, and seems genuinely happy. I'm really proud of her, and happy for her. But I'm still struggling with this whole thing.

This is what I have trouble with: first, I am old enough to have a kid in college(two, actually, if my son could get his act together, but that's another story), which means that I am OLD. It's true: I am an OLD HAG. For cripe's sake, I'll be forty in a year and a half. Holy crap. So, sending my kid to college has totally made me feel my age. Thank God I don't look my age on top of it. Then I'd really be depressed.

Second, I really miss my kid! She and I have a great relationship. She confides in me, likes to hang out with me when she's not busy with her friends, she's funny, smart, kind, and generally just a great person. Now, before you think my head is swelling here, let me state that I'm entirely sure the way she turned out is more a product of her nature than of my parenting. I'm not fit to raise Sea Monkeys, remember? But anyhow, I just miss her. I mean, she does text message me at least once a day, and she calls at least once a week, so it's not like we're totally cut off, but still.... I miss her!

Third, now she needs money. Lots and lots of money. That sucks, because I'm not exactly rolling in dough. And she doesn't want to ask her dad, because she's afraid he'll yell at her (and he probably would), and she doesn't think he would send her money anyway (and he probably wouldn't). Now, I racked up my credit card debt paying for pretty much the entire senior year and graduation for both the twins, and the ex, who initially was going to pay me back half, decided to stiff me once he realized I'm not going back to him. So I've got these massive bills thanks to that big winking anus, and I've got a kid asking me for hundreds of dollars. Not sure how I'm gonna make it happen, but I gotta find a way to help her out and still be able to pay my bills. I suppose I could start selling myself on the street.... nah. Then I'd have to go out and buy a whole new cheap, slutty wardrobe.

The trip up to my kid's school and back wasn't bad. I just slept the whole time, so there wasn't much opportunity for sparkling conversation with my ex. Bonus. Right now he's in another "I'm gonna prove I'm a changed man so you'll come back to me" phase. I'm sure it won't last long. He's done the same old song and dance before, and once he figures out it ain't getting him anywhere, he goes all evil again. The other shoe should drop any day now... he hasn't been a major dick to me for a couple weeks now.

My oldest son is not making very good choices. Of course, now that he's 18 and living with his dad, there's not a whole hell of a lot I can do. I hope he'll figure things out and get his act together, but I wonder how long it will take, and how much trouble he'll get himself into in the meantime. I do worry about him. He's basically a good kid, and I just don't want him to get creamed by the real world before he has a chance to reach some of the potential I know he has.

The little kids started school a couple weeks ago, and both of them are doing great. They love their teachers. There's a new principal, which makes me very happy. The old principal was a dick and a half. He was old and crappy, and really had no idea how to deal with kids. He'd use all these big words that I'd have to explain later, and just generally was a sour old butthead. But now he's gone, and the school seems like a much better place to be. Sweet.

My job has been interesting. There's one woman there who hates my guts, and I hear it's because of how I look, and because she thinks I'm in my twenties. I'm sorry, but that sucks ass. Especially since I used to be a fat chick like her. Well, not exactly like her... I was never that ugly, I won't be that old for another decade, and I'm not a chiffon-wrapped, sugar-coated, venom-spewing, baby-waby-voiced bitch from hell. She takes every opportunity to hate on me, trying to trash me all over the office. Yeah... bring it on, witchiepoo. I'm not as young and stupid as you think I am, and I can be as bitchy as you are if I need to be. Let's dance, sugar.

Well, I gotta go eat something. I'm loathe to do it, because I've gained 5 lbs in the past 2 1/2 months. Yuck. I mean, I'm actually at my ideal weight right now, but I've decided I prefer the lean and mean look. Or the skeletal and anorexic look, depending on who you ask. I've been trying not to gorge myself, but in my head I'm still a fat chick who likes to indulge in emotional overeating, and I'm absolutely terrified of making a pig of myself and gaining weight again. However, I am thinking of going out later, and an evening of drinking on an empty stomach is never a good idea, so I think I'll heat up some leftover garlic mashed potatoes and watch a little TV for a while.

It's been real... see ya soon.

Were you looking for an update?

Yeah? Really? Okay, here goes.

I've been so frickin' busy I don't know whether to scratch my watch or wind my ass.

I got a new job about a month ago. I'm the intake and referral coordinator for a growing home care company. It's full-time Monday through Friday, which rocks. Basically, any new patient referrals from doctors' offices, hospitals, nursing homes, county public health nurses, etc. come to me. I triage them, get all the personal info, get prior authorization from their insurance companies, start a file on them, and set them up to be admitted for home care. In my first three weeks I processed an average of fifty new clients per week. I love it, but sometimes the pace is insane. And I'm still trying to figure out all the human dynamics in the office. There are a couple people who make me want to smack them, but most of the people in the office are pretty cool. The best part is that I found out that two of the four other gals in the cubicles around me are rabid Prince fans like myself. Bonus.

The kid thing has been weird. The little kids seem to feel the need to test me every time they come home for their week with me. That sucks. I mean, I look forward to seeing them, but to be honest, sometimes after a couple nights I can't wait to take them back to their dad's. This last week they totally broke my coffee table. I've told them a million times not to frickin' sit on it, but do they listen? Noooooo. Smashy-smashy. I think I might be able to fix it, but not today because I just got my nails done. I want to fix it before they come back, though.

The teenagers don't have much use for me, unless they want to use my sweet truck. Then they're calling, being all nice, etc. Kind of a bummer, especially since my oldest daughter's leaving for college at the end of this month.

Speaking of taking her to college, how the hell's that going to work out with my ex??? I soooooooo don't want to spend several hours in a car with him, and I sure as hell am not going to share a hotel room with him. I can hardly stand him for the time it takes to pick up or drop off the kids.

The poor bastard seems to think that I'm going to change my mind and come back to him. Um, yeah..... not gonna happen. I mean, he's still nasty to me most of the time, and then turns around and tells me how much he loves me and misses me. Today when I dropped off the kids, he did the, "I miss you so much, I love you, I want you back" thing. I go, "Hmmm. I doubt that, since you act like an asshole every chance you get. See ya." And I hopped in my sweet truck and got the hell out of there.

Just a disclaimer: We absolutely do not have these conversations within the kids' hearing. Just in case you thought I was being an extra crappy mom or something.

I'm going up to karaoke in a couple hours. I haven't been in at least a month, and MAN do I miss it. Here's the thing that kinda sucks: think any of my barfly friends miss me while I'm gone? Nope. Well, one does. He calls me regularly and has stopped by occasionally to hang out for a little while. He's a good friend. The rest of them? They can kiss my lily-white ass.

I'm trying something new tonight: I'm totally cabbin' it to the bar. The last time I was up there I totally should not have driven home, but I did anyway. Not gonna let that happen again, no way no how.

Get this: I am one ten-minute speech and one 50 question final away from having my BA. Yep, that's right. After this Wednesday, I hope to never, ever set foot in a classroom or open a textbook again in my lifetime. I am done. D-O-N-E, DONE!!!

So, to sum it up, between work, school, kids, the ex, and spending quality time with my best friend when I don't have the kids, I have been busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. Again with the ass analogies.

Forgive me if I'm not as prolific as I once was. It's not that I have nothing to say, or that I don't miss you, it's just that I just don't have the time on my hands that I used to.

Here's to things easing up again now that school is over for me.

The Best Weekend in the World

So... last Friday I went on a day trip to St. Croix State Park with my best friend. We hiked some of the trails, saw some beautiful scenery, talked, laughed, and had a wonderful time together.

It was so interesting to me how being out in nature changes his outlook and demeanor. I could actually feel his stress level diminishing, and could feel the sense of peace that he gets from being among the trees, near the water, out enjoying creation.

He's a really good photographer, and he took some beautiful pictures that day. He framed an absolutely gorgeous picture of a flower that he took, and gave it to me to commemorate the wonderful day we had together. It's next to my bed, and I can't even describe how beautiful it is. The flower seems to glow and just jumps out of the picture. And it's a pink and white flower, so it goes perfectly with the decor in my bedroom.

On Saturday we went to the farmers' market. He got a bunch of veggies and herbs, and I got some loose tea (smells divine) and a tie-dyed sundress. It was so much fun to just wander around, looking at everything, chatting, sampling food, and just being able to relax.

Then, that night, he made a wonderful dinner for me with the things he got at the farmers' market. We had grilled blue marlin steaks with a citrus marinade, baked potatoes with a delicious topping of butter, sour cream, garlic and chives, and grilled yellow and green zucchini. Everything tasted so good... he is a great cook. I love it when he cooks for me, and he says that he loves to cook for me... so it works out just perfectly.

It was just so, so nice to spend the weekend doing something fun, relaxing, and meaningful. It was so nice to leave the stress of everyday life behind for a couple days and spend time with someone that I can connect with on every level. It was so wonderful to see nature through his eyes. It was so wonderful to be with someone that I can just be myself with. I don't have to censor what I say, watch what I do, or work to keep things even. We have a deep understanding of one another, and we both know that we can say anything, do anything, just be who we are, and everything will be alright.

It floors me every single day to have someone in my life that I don't have to be afraid with, who I can trust and depend on, and who I know loves me just the way I am, warts and all. I'm just not used to that... but holy hell... I certainly could get used to it.

I was sad and a little melancholy when the weekend was over and I had to get back to the daily grind... this past weekend meant the world to me... I needed it like you wouldn't believe, and I cherish my memories of it.

Did you miss me?

I missed you. I really, really did.

The last couple months have been quite the rollercoaster, lemme tell ya.

I finished my classes, and graduated at the end of May. My self-study practicum is due at the end of July, and then I will have my B.A. Sa-weet! I cannot wait to never have to set foot in a classroom again.

On June 1st I left my husband and moved into my apartment. It's a two-bedroom, it's quiet, and my deck overlooks some wetlands. Lots of big trees, geese, deer, birds... I love it here.

I'm all unpacked and settled, and the place finally looks the way I want it to look. This place is a total haven for me, I gotta say. It's so nice to not have to walk on eggshells, to not have to measure everything I say or do, not knowing what is going to set my husband off and make him rip me to shreds. I am feeling peaceful and confident for the first time in years.

The kids are doing okay. It was super hard to tell the little ones that I was moving out, but they seem to be adjusting. They live with me every other week, and this week is my week. They seem to be happy, and they do seem to be less stressed. Although that could just be because it's summer, too. The thing that's hardest right now with the kids is that they keep asking me if I'm ever going to move back in with their dad. I told them probably not. They didn't really react or say anything, so I don't know how they feel about that. The other thing is that they've started saying, "Dad's house," and "Mom's house," but in the past couple weeks I haven't heard either of them call either place "home." That makes me so sad. I think they're feeling uprooted... displaced.

The older kids want to hang out here because I have cable TV and because they need rides places. Yeah, I feel used a little. But I'll take it.They told me that their dad grills them on a regular basis about whether they've talked to me, what we talked about, what I'm doing, where I'm going, who I'm with, etc. They said they never tell him anything, because there's really nothing to tell, and they figure that if he wants to know something he should ask me himself. I hate that he's putting them in the middle, but the whole need to control, even from the other side of town, is so typical.

Speaking of the older kids, my twins graduated from high school this month! I was so proud of them... I totally bawled when I saw them walking in to "Pomp and Circumstance." My first babies are high school graduates!!!!!!! So hard to believe.

So yeah... the last couple months have been kind of a blur. I'm really looking forward to things settling down into some new form of normal.

Tomorrow is it!

That's right, folks. Tomorrow night is the last time I ever have to see or listen to The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up. Oh, I am so thrilled!

Funny story: now that he's a frickin' licensed, ordained minister (or 'license ordain minister' as he prefers to call himself), he had a buttload of business cards printed up with his personal info. I walked into class last week to find that he'd put one on every single desk. I took a look at it and almost fell off my chair... it was so frickin' funny, and so typically Thing. Under his name it says "God lead servant leader." Hmmmm. Yeah. I don't think he meant the kind of lead you find in pencils. I'm pretty sure he meant "led." Then, further down, he has a scripture verse and put a "t" at the end of the word "though" instead of an "h." Yeah, Thing... you might've wanted to have someone proofread those before you made a million copies and proudly distributed them to everyone and his brother. And his picture is all distorted... it makes him look like a squat little round guy, when he's actually tall and beanpole thin. I have that card displayed on my fridge, and I'm showing it to anyone who will look at it. Priceless.

Here's something that pleased me a great deal: he's absolutely not graduating this spring. The program director told me he's making Thing take about a year's worth of classes over because he did so poorly. He also said that he told Thing that he doesn't think he will be able to complete the program, and that, frankly, he doesn't belong in vocational ministry. Gee, ya think? And it took you two frickin' years to figure that out? I coulda told you that during the very first class. Of course, he also said that Thing didn't hear a frickin' word he said. Really? I'm surprised... Thing is usually such a good listener and is sooooooo good at internalizing information and using it in an intelligent manner.

Anyhow, just four more hours of thingisms, and then I'm home free. I'm totally going out to celebrate after school tomorrow night. Champagne and the works. Yeah, baby.

Never ever thought I'd be saying this...

My (soon to be ex) husband hit me last night. Yeah, you frickin' heard me. He frickin' HIT ME.

The first straw was that I dared to buy myself some clothes. I am working full-time, making my own money, and I needed some spring/summer outfits, so I went out and got a couple. He FREAKED. "Why the hell do you get to buy new clothes? I never buy new clothes!" Yeah... well, maybe you should. You dress like hell. I told him it was my frickin' money, and that I don't have to answer to him. So he starts going though my bag, looking at price tags. Screw that. I told him to get the hell out of my stuff.

He got all pissy and took off for the evening. I was so glad. The less time I have to deal with him the better. So I went to karaoke at Big Louie's as usual.

When I got home, apparently I accidentally woke him up. He decided to go all evil on me for disturbing his precious sleep. He didn't even have to work today, so I don't know what the hell his major malfunction was. Anyhow, for the rest of the night, every time I started to doze off, he'd hit me hard in the back or punch the pillow right next to my head. It's like he was just laying there, waiting for it. I didn't get any sleep at all, and I had to work a full day today.

I nearly got up and left. I was going to go spend the rest of the night at a hotel, but somehow I just couldn't justify dragging my kids out of bed in the middle of the night, and there was no way in hell I was leaving home without them. I couldn't even go out and sleep on the couch, because our youngest son was sleeping out there for some strange reason. So I just laid there and took it, hating him more and more with every smack.

So now I'm sleeping on the fold-out couch in the basement. He should be the one sleeping elsewhere... it's MY damn bed. It belonged to my parents. But he refuses to go.

The thing that really pisses me off is that there are a number of people out there who still think he's this great, stand-up guy, and that I'm the bitch who's tearing his world apart. They've never heard him call me fatass, never heard him call me lazy bitch, never heard him tell me I'm stupid and whacked and delusional, never heard him make fun of my thoughts and feelings, never heard him insult everything from my appearance to my parenting skills to my cooking skills to my speech to my mannerisms, never saw me waiting up for him all night long in tears when he wouldn't answer his cell phone or his pager, terrified that he was dead or in jail, only to have him stumble in drunk at 7am, insisting that he could do whatever the hell he wanted and didn't owe me any explanation. And most people who know him will never know that last night he hit me.

Holy hell. Is it any wonder that I'm leaving him? Is it any wonder that I am miserable? Is it any wonder that I never, ever want to get married again?

I cannot get out of this damned house fast enough. I cannot get out of this trainwreck of a marriage fast enough. Just a few more weeks of this hell, and then I'm out.

I never thought I would say this, but I am learning to hate the man I married. Hate him, hate him, hate him.

I'm so frickin' old.

My babies turned 18 last weekend. EIGHT-FRICKIN-TEEN. I now officially have two adult children. If that ain't enough to make you feel old as dirt, I don't know what is.

Here's what's funny: my son is all like, "Now I'm an adult. I can do whatever I want, and you can't tell me what to do anymore." To which I replied BULL. I gave the "as long as you live under our roof" speech (something I thought I'd never do because it sounds so lame). I mean, this kid can't even get his ass out of bed in the morning to catch the school bus. He has no job, no car, and his grades suck. As far as I'm concerned, these are not the marks of a responsible adult who is ready for the real world, and I let him know it.

My daughter is responsible for the most part. She gets pretty decent grades, has a job, and is usually very reliable. She's heading off to college in the fall... not sure how I feel about that. I mean, I'm not worried about her because I think she's got a pretty good head on her shoulders, but man will I miss her. I'm not sure how I feel about one of my babies living hundreds of miles away. And she's going to college with her boyfriend, which could end in disaster.

Next week she and I are going to her school for academic orientation. I dread sitting with a bunch of other parents I don't know for an entire day listening to lectures about financial aid and crap, but it will be cool to stay at a hotel for a couple nights and just hang out with my daughter. I think she and I will have fun together.

I saw it!

I'm driving the kids to school this morning, and I just happen to glance at this guy walking down the sidewalk just as he totally biffs it on the ice.

He totally went down hard. His feet flew out from under him, and if my windows had been down I'm pretty sure I would have heard him go, "Oof," when he hit the ground. I wish my windows had been down. He didn't slide on his ass, which was somewhat disappointing, but watching him try to get up totally made up for it.

The guy's feet kept slipping out from under him while he was trying to get up. It was awesome. He finally managed to get back on his feet, but he looked like an injured, deformed frog as he was getting up. His legs were all shaky and bowed out to the sides.

Here's the horrible part: I found myself feeling just a little bit bad for the guy. Yeah, I totally laughed my ass off, but I felt a little bad doing it. Holy crap, what is happening to me? I cannot have the joy of watching a sweet biff marred by... dare I say it... caring. Am I losing my appreciation for the art of the great winter wipeout? Man, I guess I just gotta toughen up. I cannot allow sympathetic tendencies to spoil my fun.

New Job

This has been quite a week.

A few weeks ago I called my old supervisor at the hospice where I used to work, told her my situation, and asked if there would be any way I can get my old nursing job back. It just so happens that they are really hurting for nurses, and she told me she'd try to get a position posted.

Well, it only took her about a week. She totally jumped on it and pushed it through in record time. I went in and filled out all the paperwork, and I had my interview last week. It was really only a formality since they already know me. In fact, my supervisor said, "It's silly that you have to jump through all the beaurocratic hoops for this. I know you, love you, and can't wait to have you as a part of our family again. In fact, I wish I could clone you about ten times over." She told me that she knows I'm a good nurse, that I give excellent patient care, am very comforting and supportive with the families, and am loved and respected by my coworkers.

Wow. I so needed to hear that. Nothing like feeling needed and wanted.

The huge bonus is that I'll be cross-trained to several different areas of hospice, so I'll have plenty of hours. I won't be eligible for benefits because technically I'll be casual part-time, but that's fine with me. The nice thing about being casual is that I'm not locked into a schedule. I can turn down shifts if I need to for days the kids don't have school, etc.

I'll primarily be doing home care, which means that all my hours will be on weekdays during the day with an occasional Saturday and no holidays. Bonus. I'll do shifts at the residence as my schedule allows and as they need me, but I'll mostly be doing home and nursing home visits.

I cannot tell you how perfectly this works out for my situation. This is such a huge relief. One less thing to stress out about. Worrying about how I would make enough money to leave my husband has been keeping me up at night.

Now I just have to find a place to live and figure out how to furnish it. I guess that means a few more restless nights, but at least I feel like the wheels are in motion.

Aw Shut Up!

Yeah, so I can hardly even watch the frickin' news anymore.

They're going on and on about the frickin' snow, the driving conditions, snow emergencies, etc. like it's a frickin' natural disaster of epic proportions. Come on, you frickin' idiots... this is Minnesota, and it's frickin' WINTER. Yeah, there's a lot of snow out there, but for cripes' sake... IT HAPPENS. EVERY YEAR, DUMBASSES. IT'S MINNESOTA.

There is absolutely no valid reason to dedicate an entire hour of local news to snow. I'm sure there is plenty else going on in the world that merits coverage. As much as I hate to hear about the misery and destruction going on in other parts of the world, I hate the constant snow coverage much, much more.

No, I don't want to see roving reporters interviewing people who are trying to shovel their cars out so they can go to work. Leave them the hell alone... they're probably already late, and you are just compounding the problem by holding them up, asking them inane questions about their shoveling technique. No, I don't want to see the stiff-haired, faux-tanned anchor people wearing suits that scream, "I have a major stick up my ass," with fake looks of concern plastered on their faces as they report on the news truck that is currently stuck in the station's parking lot. No, I don't want to see the weather guy standing outside holding up a shovel full of snow like he's never seen it before in his life, grinning like a frickin' mental patient, telling me for the five zillionth time how much snow we've gotten and how much more we can expect.

As I previously stated: it's Minne-frickin'-sota, it's bound to snow large amounts every frickin' year, it's not that big a frickin' deal, so shut up, shut up, shut the hell up.

Can't decide

I was up at Big Louie's last Sunday, and an acquaintance of mine said that most people up there think I'm a stupid bitch because of the whole rumor mill thing and my current marital situation. Hmmmm. Of course, I got very upset and fled in tears, spewing various expletives.

Now I'm not sure if I want to go up there anymore. I mean, I hate the idea of people looking at me and thinking nasty things about me. I shouldn't really care, because most of them are stupid barflies who don't even know me, but for some reason it matters.

One of my friends hasn't been able to go up there for a month, and she's going up tonight and wants to see me. I'd love to see her, and she's let me know several times that it's important to her that I go and hang out with her, but I just don't know if I can bring myself to do it. She says that I shouldn't care what other people think, because I know the truth and so do the people who care about me, and that's all that should matter. She even offered to start a horrible rumor about herself so everyone will forget about me entirely. Crazy. Sweet, but crazy.

So I'm totally going back and forth about what to do. "Should I stay or should I go... If I go there will be troubllllle... And if I stay it will be double... So come on and let me know... Should I cool it or should I blow?"

The Drunk Hobbit

So, yeah... I'm up at the bar Sunday night for karaoke (as usual), and I'm sitting alone. This tiny little drunk comes up to me and asks if he can sit with me and chat a while.

First of all, this little creature is repulsive. He totally looks like a hobbit, to the point where I am afraid to look down because I'm pretty sure he has those huge, hairy, bare hobbit feet. Second, he is so drunk he can hardly see straight. He's slurring and weaving, and he's making no frickin' sense at all.

So I tell him I'm waiting on some friends, so he can't sit with me. He goes, "Well, I'll just wait with you until they get here," and parks his tiny little ass on the bar stool next to me. Crap. See, I wasn't exactly sure if any of my friends would be there. I was terrified of being stuck sitting next to this annoying dude all night.

So he starts going into his life story (why does every stranger I meet feel like they need to tell me their life story???), and I'm not even looking at him, trying to give the hint that I really don't give a rat's ass. He's telling me about how he works in a bakery, and how he was supposed to get married last summer but the chick wouldn't sign a prenup, so he had to cut her loose. Um, yeah... if you're slaving away in a grocery store bakery and drinking your income away at the bar every night, I doubt you have enough dough to merit a prenup. (Get it? He works in a bakery and I said dough. I crack me up.)

So as he's telling me his sad, slurred, probably fabricated story, I'm giving pleading looks to the bartender, and other regulars are laughing their asses off because we've all seen the hobbit up there before, and we all know how annoying he is and avoid him like the plague.

Bless her heart, she clued in a couple of the other regulars, who called across the bar and asked me to come over and talk. So I picked up and moved, giving some lame excuse to the fairytale creature as I fled.

Eventually a couple of my friends did show up, which was awesome because then there were no empty seats for the hobbit. However, the hobbit stared at me for the rest of the evening, moving around the bar talking to anyone and everyone who was unable to avoid or deflect him. I wonder how many of me he was seeing... he was really trashed.

One funny thing from when he was sitting there talking my ear off: he asks what kind of cigarettes I'm smoking and what I'm drinking, and I tell him. He asks if they're expensive, and I tell him they are. He goes, "I can tell you're a woman with expensive tastes." I couldn't help myself... I go, "Yes I am. Far too expensive for you." The funny thing was, it was totally lost on him. I mean, I totally dissed him, yet he kept hanging around and talking to me. "Deeeeeeesperado.... why don't you come to your senses...." I mean, come on.

Later in the evening this other guy comes in. He totally looked like a malnourished, deranged Santa Claus. Long white beard, long white hair, plaid flannel shirt with a blaze orange baseball cap, and I'm pretty sure he was missing more than a few teeth. He looked like he'd spent the winter alone in a cabin in the woods, practicing taxidermy on squirrels and chipmunks. I was going, "Oh dear God, please let him sing. Oh please let him sing." Sure enough, he gets up there and demolishes a couple country tunes and a rock ballad. He was totally into it, in the way that someone who doesn't realize how much they suck gets into singing a song. I was laughing my frickin' ass off. Ho ho frickety ho.

It was a fun evening (once I got away from the drunk hobbit), and I'm glad I was able to pull myself out of my funk and go out. It was awesome to see my friends, sing a few songs, and just not think about all the crap going on at home for a little while.

It's all over but the cryin'

Well friends, I'm not feeling too jovial or chatty these days. Nothing seems funny or interesting. Everything is just hard and exhausting.

Here's the deal: my marriage of nearly fifteen years is over. I am leaving my husband. Right now things are ugly, loud, hurtful, stressful, everything yucky you might imagine. I feel like I'm being beat up every single day. Sometimes every hour. Although he's never laid a hand on me, he knows right where to strike emotionally and mentally. Now that he's feeling hurt and furious, he's putting careful thought into ways to mess with my mind... even more thought than usual.

That's why I'm leaving. I'm so very tired of feeling unloved and disrespected, tired of feeling like a nothing, tired of feeling like a glorified maid/nanny/whore. I need to be free of this constant pain, both for my own sake and for the sake of my kids. I just need to get out and start over.

So I might not be posting much for a while, and if I do, it might just be a nasty vent instead of my usual observations.

There. Consider yourself warned.

I'm not fit to raise Sea Monkeys.

Could I be a crappier parent? I don't think so. Every kid I have is giving me fits. Every single one of them.

The teenagers are totally out of control. Both of them are making crappy life choices right now, and they both keep saying that, because they'll be 18 in a month, they are "practically adults" and should be able to do whatever they want. I am quickly realizing that my time of influence with them has come to an end, and frankly I think my performance has left a lot to be desired. So what do I do? Do I crack the whip and try to keep them in line, or do I just sit back and watch the train wreck? I'm thinking it's too late for me to have any significant positive effect on their behavior or their life skills, and it kills me. I'm sending my babies out into the big, mean world, and I don't have a great deal of confidence that I've given them what it takes to be successful adults.

The little kids... wow. I have one with some issues at school (mild autism spectrum disorder), and I am at a loss as to how to help him. I've tried just about everything I can come up with, thought we had it all figured out, only to find that we're back at square one. The thing that throws me is that he sees any intervention as a punishment and totally fights me. It's a huge power struggle every frickin' day. And my baby has perpetual PMS. She growls at me like a little animal when she doesn't like what I'm saying to her, has even tried to smack me a few times, and now has decided that she is going to gain control of situations by dragging her little feet when we're trying to get out the door and making everyone late.

What the hell????? Okay, maybe I kind of deserve it. I mean, I was a horrible, hard-headed child. My mom used to tell me, "I hope someday you have a kid just like you." Well Mom, you are evidence of the power of prayer, because I don't have just one like me... I have four. Count 'em: FOUR. Just goes to show that most people usually get what's coming to them in spades.

And it doesn't help me any that my husband criticizes my parenting skills on a consistent basis. Not constructive criticism, either. The kind of criticism that makes you feel like crap and doubt yourself. And it's not like he's jumping in there to back me up. I am always the strict parent, the one who doles out and reinforces discipline, and the one who comes off looking like a bitch. The kids try to play us off one another, and he usually ends up telling them they have to deal with me and leave him out of it. Yeah, thanks for the support.

To be perfectly honest, I feel like running away. Just getting in the car and driving, ending up somewhere out west, changing my name and starting over. I am so frustrated and so emotionally exhausted.

Of course, you all know I won't actually run away. However, I think I will be taking another long weekend to go away to regroup and think things through. I want to do it soon, because I am going frickin' nuts. I'm thinking I'll probably go to the same hotel I went to last summer and spend a few days reading, vegging, sleeping, and soaking in the hot tub. Sounds waaaay better to me than fighting with my husband and kids and trying to keep my head above water all the frickin' time.

Hilary Clinton, American Idol?

Wow. Saw this on the news this morning. This has got to be some of the worst singing I've heard in a long time, and remember I sing karaoke every Sunday night with a bunch of drunks.



I mean, come on. If you know that you couldn't carry a tune if it had handles on it, at least turn off your mic. And she even got some of the words wrong. Nice job, Hilary.

My Craptacular Parenting Skills

Here's the story.

Last night I was watching that video of the grape stomping lady face-planting, and I was laughing my frickin' ass off. My seven-year-old daughter was sitting on the couch, so I called her over to watch it.

I've practically got tears rolling down my face, because this video gets funnier every time I watch it. Suddenly I realize that my baby is staring at me with a look of horror on her little face, like I'm the devil or something. She goes, "Mom, that lady really got hurt. It's not very nice to laugh when someone falls and gets hurt." Aw, crap. I mean, I should be glad that my kid is compassionate and has a conscience, but... crap.

Using my faulty reasoning, I figured that I could redeem myself in her eyes by watching it again and not laughing, maybe even showing a little concern. Well, I couldn't do it. I really, really did try, but I just couldn't keep a straight face. I turned to her to apologize for my sick, crass sense of humor, only to find that she was cracking a smile and even giggling a little. Yep, she's one of mine.

I told this story to my best friend, who was kind enough to point out that I just totally corrupted my angelic little baby. Yeah, thanks for that, hon.

Now I feel like the most craptacular mom on the planet. Without thinking, I am raising a new generation of sick individuals who totally get off on the misfortune and pain of others. I am training up a tiny new army of people who have a spidey sense for someone about to fall down, spill something, or otherwise be embarrassed or humiliated. One of my boys actually saw a fat little teacher walking to the car to talk to me when I picked the kids up from school one day and begged me to drive off so he could watch her run after us and possibly slip on the ice. Mmmmm hmmmm. That's my boy. Of course I didn't do it, but I did picture it in my mind and laughed a little.

Here's the awful thing: while I should be 1000% mortified, the wicked, horrible part of me is just a little proud. "And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me, he'd grown up just like me. My boy was just like meeeeee... And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon..." Okay, okay... I'm stopping now.

The Thing and Junk

School last night. Wow. Where do I start?

First of all, it was the last session of this particular class, so I will never have to listen to Diane Chambers again. Whoooooohoooooooo. Man, was she annoying. And weird.

Thing did his heresy presentation last night. I'd been dreading it, because I was sure it would be a rambling mess that would take at least half the class time. Well, he gets up there and hands out a term paper on his chosen heresy. This frickin' paper was eight pages long, front and back. Holy crap, dude. So I start looking at the paper, and it is absolutely perfect. No misspellings, no run-on sentences, lots of great big words, even a little Greek thrown in for good measure. It was so frickin' obvious that he is a gigantic plagiarist. There is no way in hell Thing wrote a single word of that paper. This fact was totally underscored by his presentation. He basically started reading from his paper (after a five minute, rambling, senseless introduction that had nothing to do with anything), and he couldn't even frickin' read it. He's mispronouncing words, stumbling over the sentence structures, and obviously struggling to comprehend what he supposedly researched and wrote. And he had the nerve to go, "Y'all know how I love to learn and research stuff." Hmmmm. Really? Then why doesn't your in-depth research ever result in a finished paper??? Idiot. The funny thing was that he was only on page four of his huge-ass work of plagiarism when the prof goes, "Five minutes left." Yeah, I can't say I was at all surprised that Thing was totally unable to present anything within a fifteen minute time frame. So he starts skipping pages, and I just totally tuned out. At the end, the prof asked if anyone had any questions and Thing looked like he was going to pass out. No one asked him jack because no one could stomach the thought of getting him talking again, but I was really tempted to ask him a very specific question relating to his manifesto just to watch him squirm. I know... evil.

Later on in class we were discussing the role of the Holy Spirit, and Thing starts this long-ass debate with the prof. He was basically saying the same thing as the prof (as usual), but for some reason felt they were not on the same page and totally kept belaboring the point. Totally frustrating. When I get stressed I start to chew my cuticles... lemme tell ya, I've got a few ragged ones from last night. At one point, Thing goes, "The Holy Spirit came into my life and made me stop doing evil," and all I could think was, "Too bad the Holy Spirit can't make you shut the hell up." I would've started kicking him at that point, but couldn't quite reach him. And trust me, I looked under the desk to gauge whether or not I could make contact.

Another funny thing that happened:
We're watching this video sermon about atonement, and the guy on the screen is talking about an Old Testament practice where the high priest would take this goat and confess all the sins of the nation of Israel on the head of the goat, and then a Gentile would take the goat out into the wilderness and let it go. So the sins of the people were on the goat, not on the people. Atonement/salvation.

Here's the funny part: the guy is talking about putting your sins on the goat, and he keeps saying, "They all put their junk on the goat," "The junk of the entire nation was on that goat," "Put your junk on the altar," and a few more comments along that line. I was going, "Holy crap! Stop Saying JUNK!" Of course, horrible person that I am, I was totally thinking of "junk" as... well, you all know what "junk" is. If you don't, you must be living in a cave somewhere on the outskirts of town. I was totally laughing... I mean sitting with my head down so my hair would cover my face so no one would see me laughing, shoulders shaking, everything but the Horshack-like donkey bray that flies out of my mouth when I am laughing hysterically. Of course I go to school with grown-ups, so I was the only immature, perverted dork who found it funny.

About Computer Boy's ass: if I have to look at that thing one more time I'm going to scream. I ask you, how can he be completely oblivious to the fact that he is standing around flashing his bare ass at poor, unsuspecting, innocent classmates??? What have we ever done to deserve such an oogie fate??? That classroom is really cold, too, so there is no frickin' way he cannot feel the breeze on his skin. And he'll walk to the front of the class with the full moon out, turn to face us, and THEN pull his pants up. Yeah, a little too little a little too late, pal. He also sometimes has his naked belly exposed during class, which is particularly hilarious when he leans back in his chair while making a point during a discussion. Now, there is just no excuse for that. One, you have got to feel the cold air on your skin. Two, it's right in front of you, so you can totally see that your shirt is riding up to just below your nipple line. Yet he rarely makes a move to correct the problem right away. And I know that if I dared to look under the table his ass would be hanging out too, which would mean that he was virtually naked from thighs to chest. Can I just say: EW, EW, EEEEEEEWWWWWWWW.

It's like a 10.0 on the rectal scale. (Yeah, I'm never going to be able to let go of that one. So sue me.)

The Grape Lady

Okay, my friend Sherry sent me this video. It is a sa-weet biff. I feel a little bad for laughing as hard as I did, because the lady got totally hurt... but it didn't stop me from laughing until I couldn't breathe. As I've said before, I would hate to come to a place where I stop laughing and start caring.

Check it out:




By the way, I have school tonight. Not looking forward to it. I don't think Diane Chambers is taking any more classes with us after tonight, so that makes me pretty happy. And Michelle pointed out that we only have about 13 weeks left until we graduate, so no more Thing either. My blogs will be much more boring after that, I suppose... but I'm sure I'll quickly find something new to bitch about.

School Sucks

Can I just say that I'm really starting to hate frickin' school???

I spent all frickin' day yesterday writing term papers that were due last night. I can't believe I totally put everything off until the literal last minute. It was awful. Now, I have always been the High Queen of Procrastination, but as of yesterday I've officially been promoted to the Supreme Empress of Procrastination. Where else can I go? I suppose I could make Ultimate Goddess of Procrastination if I keep going in this vein, which is highly possible considering my present level of burnout. I even got to class ten minutes late because I was trying madly to finish my frickin' papers.

Class last night massively sucked.

First of all, The Thing did not get kicked out. Dammit. He was there last night, and he was doing his usual blahblahfricketyblah, with a couple of funny but annoying exceptions.

One of the Scripture readings was from the book of John, and Thing goes, "Yeah, I'm real glad John wrote what he did. I couldn't have done no better myself." Really, Thing? Ya couldn't have done no better? Aw, I'm thinking you're selling yourself short. I mean, you write so well. Your papers generally only have between 70 and 85 mechanical mistakes (and I know because I used to have the dubious honor of proofreading them), you choose a topic, stick to it and explain your position flawlessly, and you have proven yourself to be a matchless theologian, as evidenced by your scintillating additions to class discussions.

In case you can't tell, I'm being sarcastic.

Occasionally our prof uses Greek terminology in his lectures, which is fine. For some reason last night, however, Thing really felt he had something to prove. Every time the prof would throw out a little Greek, Thing would start going, "Oh, yeah. Mmmmhmmm." Like he recognized the words or something, or like the prof needed confirmation that his Greek was correct. Um.... yeah. Thing? Don't even. We all know you can't speak or understand a damn word of Greek, or probably any other language for that matter. Hell, you can't even speak proper English. Remember the rectal scale? You will never live that one down as long as I am still breathing.

There is a new chick in our class that bugs the crap out of me. Remember that craptacular TV show Cheers? Well, this chick is Diane Chambers. She obviously thinks she is so much better and smarter than the rest of us, and it makes me want to smack her. So I will be referring to her as Diane Chambers.

So Diane felt it was important to let everyone know last night that her PC Bible program has sixteen versions on it, including the original Hebrew. Well la-di-da. She even went so far as to let the prof know that if he needed anyone to read a Scripture verse, she could do it in any version. So he took her up on it, and she goes, "Which version?" He rattled off a few that we usually use, and she goes, "How about the Modern King James?" Well, if she'd taken the class on hermeneutics (Scripture interpretation) with us, she would have known that the Modern King James is generally not considered the most accurate translation. I think the prof was getting exasperated, though, because he goes, "Sure. Whatever." So she reads it. He rereads it a little later in the lecture, in a more accurate translation, to illustrate a point, and she goes, "Well, in the Modern King James it says this, not what you said. Isn't this the correct meaning?" He let her know that it was not the correct meaning, and she has the nerve to go, "Are you sure about that?" Excuse me??? Hey, Diane - do you have a master's degree in biblical studies? Have you even taken a class in interpretation of Scripture before? No? Well then SHUT THE HELL UP. Your head is so far up your ass it would take the frickin' jaws of life to get it out of there.

Then it was presentation time. My friend Michelle went first, and she did very well. She had a lot of good information on the heresy she chose to present, and her power point slides rocked. Diane went later, presenting the same heresy as Michelle. Diane got bitchy and felt she needed to publicly point out the points where she disagreed with Michelle. Whatever. I mean, if you have the kind of relationship with someone where you can point out mistakes without making the other person feel bad, go ahead and do it in private if you feel you need to do it at all. But to do it in front of the whole class, and to do it in such a classless way, especially when the two of them barely know each other, was just plain bitchy and nasty. And she didn't even have the marvelous power point show she'd been bragging she was going to have. She just sat there and read from her notes like some uptight, hoity-toity schoolmarm. Hey, look at me! I'm soooo much smarter than any of you! Please like me! Yeah. Not gonna happen, Diane. I've totally got your number, and I'm pretty sure it's a big, fat zero.

My other friend Sherry, who occasionally comments on Bogurdine, also did her presentation. She also rocked the house. Her power point was amazing, and she obviously studied her frickin' ass off. But then, she always does. Now SHE is smart. Diane could take some serious lessons from her, because there is no one in our class who is smarter than Sherry. Except me. Just kidding.

Also, I was forced to see Computer Boy's ass hanging out yet again. It was funny at first, but now it's just gross. And he still smells like deep-fried ass.

By 7:30 PM I knew I was going to need a drink when I got home, and class goes until 10 PM.

I wasn't going to go to the bar last night because I've been up there way too much lately, and I generally end up drinking too much, but when I got home my husband really wanted to go. So we went.

Remember the bar bitch who's been spreading nasty rumors about me? Well, a couple Sundays ago we had an unpleasant confrontation. She comes up to me and goes, "You know I still love you." Whatever. I told her I'd hate to see what she'd do to me if she hated me, and she asked what I meant. I go, "Don't even. I know what you've been saying about me." She tried to tell me that she'd heard the rumors, but wasn't the one who started them. I go, "Hmmm. Everyone tells me they heard it straight from you." She goes, "Well, we'll just have to agree to disagree on that point." I go, "You and I will never agree on anything. Ever." Then she has the nerve to ask me if we're still friends. I go, "Hell no. You and I are absolutely not friends." My husband and our best friend were watching all this unfold, and they later said they were poised to jump up and pull me off her if need be, because I had my trademark pissed-off face going and they were a little afraid for the bar bitch's safety. I've seen her a couple times since then, and she carefully avoids me while very obviously whispering about me to anyone who will listen. Man, do I hate her.

So anyhow, back to my story about last night. There was a couple up there, and I really like them. It was the guy's birthday, and they were ordering one more drink before they took off for the next leg of their celebration. We were having a nice conversation when Bar Bitch sidles up to them and tells the bartender to put their drinks on her tab. The chick half of the couple took two sips, and then their cab came. So she turns to me, with Bar Bitch sitting right there, and goes, "Donna, do you want my drink?" I said sure. Then they left. I turned to my husband with the hugest grin on my face and said, "Hey, get me. I'm drinking this chick's drink and Robin frickin' paid for it." Oh, it struck me so funny. I was half expecting her to ask the bartender to take it off her tab, but she didn't. I was very tempted to lift my glass to her and tell her thanks, but I didn't really want to address her directly in any way, shape or form. To actually have to talk to her would be about as palatable to me as stepping in fresh dog shit with my bare foot.

So, in summary... Me: hating school, Supreme Empress of Procrastination, but happy that Bar Bitch unintentionally bought me a drink; Thing: dumb as ever and just as annoying; Diane Chambers: pretentious and rude, and possibly not much smarter than Thing; Bar Bitch: nasty, hateful, and out five bucks.

Sa-weet.

Last Night

School totally rocked last night for several reasons.

1. The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up wasn't there. It's unbelievable to me how different the vibe of the class is without his presence. The discussion actually flowed, and even the basic mood was lighter. This is totally wicked, but I'm kinda hoping he was absent because he finally got booted from the program. That would be awesome. Not for him, I'm sure, but for the rest of us who actually WORK.

2. I gave my presentation on a heresy, and it went very well. In fact, the prof used it as an example of how he wants it done. Bonus. It's worth 30% of my grade, so I'm happy to know that I did alright. Plus, it's over and out of the way, which is a huge load off my mind. I hate, hate, frickin' McHate public speaking... it gives me hives. Funny how I can get up in front of a bunch of people and belt out a few songs without a second thought, but if I have to give a speech I feel like puking. Well, anyhow, it's done and I'm glad.

3. At the end of class my friends pointed out the fact that Computer Boy was standing in the front of the room with his back to us and pretty much his entire bare ass hanging out. Oh, it was priceless. When I first walked into class I sat on the opposite side of the room from him. He asked me if I was afraid of him. No, I'm not afraid of him. The fact of the matter was that he smelled really bad, like deep-fried ass, and you all know how I am about smells.

So, yeah... if every remaining class could be like last night I would be a happy girl. Okay, maybe I'd miss ripping on The Thing a little bit... but the benefits of his absence far outweigh the drawbacks.

Okay, so I gotta know...

Now, I need to start this off with a disclaimer. Usually I write my posts stone cold sober. Tonight I am writing with a pretty good buzz on. Homemade Jagbombs rule, but that's beside the point here. This is a first-rate look into the true, uncensored, drunken meanness of my mind. I'll take a look at this post in the light of day tomorrow and decide whether or not it's actually Bogurdine-worthy. If it's still here by midnight tomorrow you can assume I remain generally happy with the content. Either way, this may be a once-in-a-lifetime shot for those of you reading this.

I was watching South Park on the CW, and it was one of my favorite episodes. Cartman puts a picture of Kenny with his ass sticking out the hood of his parka on the side of a milk carton as a missing person, and the family of a missing kid with a genetic disorder that causes them to have buttocks where their faces should be comes around hoping that Cartman has info about their missing buttfaced kid. Every time the couple says the "Sssss" sound it sounds like a fart. It's so hysterically funny that Cartman totally loses his sense of humor and poses this question: "Could something be so totally hilarious that you could never think anything is funny ever again?" This concept has me thinking.

Could this possibly be true? If I see something that strikes me so funny that I fall on the ground laughing, could it actually break my funny bone to the point where nothing in the world could ever top it again?

If I see some old lady totally biff it on the ice and she sliiiiiides on her ass for about 10 feet and then just lays there for a few minutes, totally hurt, until someone stops and asks, "Are you okay," and she says, "NO," would it totally break my funny bone? What if instead of laying there she hops back up, looking around to make sure no one saw her, and gingerly goes on her way? Would that do it? Or what if, when she hops up, I run up to her and laugh hysterically while telling her that I totally saw her go down and she stares at me with that combined look of embarrassment and anger that I imagine a comment like that would bring on, and I proceed to laugh until I hyperventilate and pass out on the sidewalk, conking my head on the way down? Would I never be able to laugh again?

Part of me would really, really like to see this theory put to the test. I dream and fantasize about the day when I see something so hilarious that nothing in the world could possibly compare. On the other hand, I absolutely cannot fathom never laughing at the misfortunes of others again. I would hate to get to the point where I stop laughing and start caring.

Hmmm... caught between a rock and a hard place... just where I like to be.

Which is more important?

A sharp mind or a gorgeous face?

This is a question that was recently asked of me, and here is my final answer: a sharp mind is definitely more important, and in the long run more attractive, than a pretty face. However, a totally hideous visage is an automatic deal breaker no matter how brilliant the mind.

Here's where I'm going with this: while it's true that the first thing that might attract me is a certain physical type, and while I do frequently ogle beautiful men, if the elevator don't quite make it to the observation deck I will quickly lose all interest. A man has to be able to keep me hooked with ideas, stories and conversation. Animal magnetism only goes so far.

Example: I once lusted after this mega-hot guy for months, and he finally asked me out. He took me to a really stupid, pointless movie, and then spent the rest of the date talking about how super cool the crapass movie was. There did not seem to be anything even mildly interesting going through his mind at any given point. It was like that SNL skit with Chris Farley, where he would interview celebrities about their movies and say stuff like, "Remember in Die Hard 3, when you jumped out of that building right before it exploded? ......... That was awesome." When the hot guy asked if I'd like to go out with him again, I said hell no. He bored me silly.

Now, on the other hand, I also could never be romantically involved with a gargoyle. Remember, I am somewhat shallow. I need to be able to look at a man. Even if he has the most brilliant, entertaining mind on the planet, if I find him absolutely physically repulsive I will totally lose interest. I do have a "type" toward which I gravitate, and many people seem surprised to find that my "real life type" is nearly the complete opposite of my "fantasy type." And no, I'm not going to tell you what makes up either type. You figure it out.

Example of my shallow need to maintain physical attraction to someone: Once I was getting set up on a blind date by a friend. I talked on the phone to the blind date for about a month before I finally met him. On the phone he was extremely attractive... smart, funny, sensitive. I liked him. Then he came to pick me up on the night of the Big Date. My God, he looked like one of those shrunken apple-head dolls. Really bald, really wrinkly, really tiny (shorter than me), with teeth that resembled Indian corn. And he was only 32 years old. I knew immediately that I could never see him again.

I suppose it's all a delicate balancing act then, isn't it? A smart, funny guy that has that definite, subjective element of physical attractiveness. Who says you can't have your cake and eat it too?

Dick Enrico can't spell.

You know who I'm talking about. The 2nd Wind Exercise Equipment guy. "Why buy new when slightly used will do?" And who hasn't seen the creepy ads in bar bathrooms with the baby sporting the signature afro and molestache?

There's just something yucky and creepy about this guy. I can't quite put my finger on it. For some reason, I think he looks like he would reek. He also seems like he would be kinky, and not in a fun sexy way. Of course, I have absolutely no evidence or data to back up these feelings, it's just a gut reaction thing.

One thing I do know for sure: he needs to fire whoever edits the text for his TV commercials. When he says, "Lose weight," the text scrolling down the right hand side of the screen says, "Loose weight." Like one merely has to untie a rope or something and set the pounds free. Like dropping sandbags from a hot air balloon or something.

Okay, okay... I know it's petty and nitpicky for me to notice such inconsequential details and get bent out of shape enough about them that I feel the need to post about them. I know that from time to time there are grammatical and spelling errors right here on Bogurdine that I fail to catch. But come on... I'm talking about a TV commercial for this guy's business, and there is a gross misspelling that sits on the screen for a good portion of the time. If, after multiple airings of this commercial this stupid error has gone unnoticed by either Dick or his staff, then they should all be fired or at least have their Christmas bonuses revoked.

Happy Frickin' New Year

2007. Well, well, well.

Is this a huge deal, or is it just another day? I'm leaning toward the "just another day."

New Year's Eve was pretty anticlimactic. We hung out, ate a bunch of snacks and watched crapass TV. When midnight rolled around, the little kids were asleep in bed, the teenagers were out with their friends, and the hubby and I were sitting out in the woodshop smoking, drinking champagne and watching more crapass TV. We watched the ball drop in Times Square, toasted the new year, and then went in the house to wait for the teenagers. Of course, our oldest son totally broke curfew as usual, waltzing in more than an hour late. I was livid. I think I finally fell asleep sometime after 3 AM to the sound of my husband snoring in my ear.

I do not make New Year's resolutions. I think making resolutions is just setting yourself up for disappointment and failure. I hear everyone making these grandiose plans and predictions for 2007, and I just shake my head. I mean, it's nice to plan, dream and scheme, but come on. Be reasonable. Do you really think it's feasible to believe that you will get a promotion, find the love of your life, take a month-long tropical vacation and cure cancer all in one frickin' year? And what will happen to you next New Year's Eve when you think back and realize that you didn't get to do any of that crap?

Maybe I just sound cynical. Well, good. I've actually spent the last couple of months working to cultivate my cynicism. The whole pie-in-the-sky, I-believe-I-can-fly thing just wasn't working out for me.

Here's the closest I will come to making a New Year's resolution: I will try to do what I need to do to be happy with myself and with my place in the world. I will try to be the kind of person other people want to be around. I will try not to make things worse or more difficult than they need to be.

Now, notice I said TRY. So, if on December 31st 2007 I am still generally unhappy with my life, I can still say mission accomplished as long as I made some kind of attempt to correct things over the previous 12 months. Yay me.

So... Happy New Year, and go with the flow.

Does anyone else find this funny???

So, I'm watching TV this morning, trying hard to wake up. (Yeah, I had a good New Year's Eve.) There's this commercial for Weight Watchers... I'm sure you've seen it. It's the one that's all about "after" the weight loss.

Anyhow, the ladies are saying things like, "After I lost 52 lbs," and "After I started exercising," etc. Then there's a shot of this lady holding a huge-ass plate of burgers, and the voice over goes, "After I learned to eat right."

I'm sorry, but since when is eating a whole platter of quarter pounders with cheese eating right???? This strikes me funny every frickin' time I see it. If she were really learning to eat right they'd show her with a crappy little salad and a skinless chicken breast, but instead they let people think that if they just join Weight Watchers they can still scarf down 12 greasy burgers at a sitting and lose a buttload of weight.

Come on, people! Are we really that stupid, that gullible, that we actually think that we don't have to drastically change our eating habits to get the pounds off??? Does Weight Watchers really think that we look at the skinny chick with the giant platter of beef patties and go, "Sweet! I'm joining up!" Yeah. "Here, Weight Watchers! Take all my hard-earned money! I'll come to the meetings, count my points, spend them all eating crap, and then still be crying next New Year's Eve because I didn't learn a damned thing! Where do I sign up?"

Or there's the alternative scenario: the chick eats salads and pieces of white meat the size of a deck of cards and exercises like a fiend for a year, loses the weight, but THEN thinks that now that she's thin she can start eating like a trucker again and no longer has to work out daily. And of course, Weight Watchers has really done nothing substantial to teach her that this is not an option, because they want this poor woman to keep coming back and giving them her money to try to figure out what she's doing wrong.

How do I know this? Lemme tell ya, I did the yo-yo dieting thing for nearly two decades before I finally resorted to surgery to correct my weight problem. I did Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, Weigh-Down Workshop, you name it. They're all the same. They all make you think that watching what you eat is only for a season, only until you get the weight off. No one really wants you to learn a new habit that you can carry over into the rest of your life. They all want you coming back, fatter than ever, begging for help because the weight never stays off. That sucks. Massively. It's all about the money. They don't really give a flying frick what happens to you in the long run.

Having said all that, I will now step off my soap box to tell you that I still laugh my frickin' ass off every time I see that chick on TV, holding her giant platter of burgers and talking about how she's learned to eat right.